Awakening
by BlackMoonWhiteSky
Summary: To awaken a Furyan whose very nature has been suppressed for years… that will require life-threatening danger and anger enough to ignite that legendary Furyan temper. Sorry Taniar, but it's time to wake up.
1. Prologue: A Merc and His Mark

_To awaken a Furyan whose very nature has been suppressed for years… that will require life-threatening danger and anger enough to ignite that legendary Furyan temper. Sorry Taniar, but it's time to wake up._

* * *

**Awakening:**

**Prologue: A Merc and His Mark**

* * *

The man watching with cold calculation as the beast know widely as a Hellhound tore through the slum of some small town on some backwater planet was an ex-mercenary. To the Guild council he was known as Phirdu Haddok, to everyone else he gave the name De Winter.

He was like his false name, cold.

There are men who are born to be mercenaries: calculating, cruel, greedy, and amoral. De Winter was one of those men, he didn't care if the person he hauled in to whichever slam was willing to pay the most was the worst scum to ever roam the galaxy or an innocent soul who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, just so long as he got his payday.

He didn't care if the men he set out with came back with him from a job, in fact, he had knocked off a few himself. That's how he was promoted to captain of his first Starjumper.

He enjoyed violence and the company of an expensive working woman on occasion. He hated little backwater hick towns on no-name planets like this one more fiercely than anything. It reminded him too much of the place he was born, not that he recognized that as the reason for his intense dislike.

And right now he was angry, so very fucking angry, because the one thing he was good at, the one thing he liked, and the doctor just told him that he couldn't do it anymore. Not if he wanted to keep breathing.

This last mark had as good as killed him, this freak with the glowing eyes. De Winter- no, he was just Haddok now, was a merc no longer, and that infuriated him. So he released the Hellhound.

The beast belonged to his mark, it had nearly ripped out his spleen on more than one occasion, so as an act of defiance, Phirdu had captured it and kept it on his ship. He'd expected to use it to lure the man he's been hunting to him, and he'd succeeded, sort of. Things had not gone his way, his plans were rendered completely useless.

His mark was gone now, left the planet, went back to his homeworld. Haddok knew, because that's what his mark had told him he was going to do, as he stood over the bleeding De Winter. He'd left everything behind, including the beast.

So Phirdu, in his rage, released the creature to destroy everything in its path. Maybe someone would kill it, maybe not, but his bloodlust would be sated either way. He watched as it caught another man by the throat and ripped the flesh, flinging blood in every direction and roaring with a bestial fury. That was the third human it had killed in less than a minute and he couldn't have been more satisfied.

He followed the Hellhound for an hour, allowing the creature to satisfy his lust for carnage as it killed whatever it could catch. He was going to kill it once he was satisfied of course, he was not so stupid as to think he would be able to control the beast, only his mark had been able to do that.

* * *

He was beginning to wind down when he lost sight of the Hellhound, though it was hardly the first time. When he finally caught up with the beast he was, unbelievably, shocked. There was a little girl, she was no more than four years old, but that was pushing it. It was not the sight of the Hellhound ripping into the girl's young flesh that astounded him, more than one of the creature's victims had been children and that hadn't gotten even a grimace out of him.

What shocked him was the sight of the Hellhound with its bloodied muzzle resting in the little girl's lap, eyes closed and armor plates rattling in a grumbling purr as the little girl scratched the beast behind the ears. The sight of the fearsome creature acting like a house pet sent another bolt of rage through him, seeing for a moment his mark instead. That tall, imposing man that could turn a wild killer into the most loveable of creatures.

And then he realized how right he was, the girl had the same coloration as the man he'd been hunting, and he could see the resemblance, to what he realized must have been her father, in the shape of her lips and the set of her jaw. It was her eyes though, her eyes that gave it away.

They glowed.

Not like her father's eyes had glowed, her eyes were weak, a child's underdeveloped eyes. For the first time Haddok realized that the man he'd been hunting had naturally glowing eyes, no matter how impossible that seemed, not the slam-eyeshine he'd taken it for.

He wanted to kill her of course, daughter of the man who'd as good as killed him, how could he not want her dead?

But watching her pet the monster gave him a sudden idea, one he liked even better than killing her. Because as much as Haddok like carnage and vengeance… he liked turning a profit just that much more.

* * *

**The mark is not Riddick, fyi, he is, kind of obviously, a Furyan though.**


	2. Chapter 1: The Crashing of a Ship

**Wow, thanks to all those that favorited/alerted and special thanks to **_OperaGhost18_**, **_DeathsQueen26_**, **_Swirlypasta_**, and **_crazychi_** for the reviews. Um, anyways, enjoy! Here's chapter 1, don't forget to review, I want to know what you think! *smiles***

* * *

**Awakening:**

**Chapter 1: The Crashing of a Ship**

* * *

The first time he smelled her was when Johns brought him aboard the Hunter-Gratzner; she was already in cryo. The faint scent, when he was finally able to isolate it from all the other smells clinging to her, had his lip curling instinctively in disgust. Weakness. It was the scent of one who was alive only because fortune had not put them into the path of danger until now; it was the scent of prey.

He was certain she would be one of the first to die should danger arise.

That was the first time he smelled her. It was not, however, the first time he _**noticed**_ her. That didn't come until the crash.

* * *

They would do as they were paid. They would even do so without comment or complaint; that did not change the fact that they believed their current employer to be a heartless, ruthless man. He was not the first such man to employ them, and he was not likely to be the last.

Such was the nature of their business.

The cryo was a point of some discomfort for them, they did not like to be so completely unaware of their surroundings, but they had no known enemies on the ship, and it was clear that their target had no knowledge of their presence at all, let alone their purpose. It was still a point of some discomfort.

Also a point of discomfort was the requirement that they wait until their target was finished with their business before they were allowed to strike. The longer they had to follow their target, the more likely it was that they would be discovered. Only one good thing came from waiting, and that was the fact that their target's fearsome traveling companions would no longer be a concern for them.

That, at least, was a relief.

As they settled in for their unnatural sleep, they took a last check of their weapons and made sure they had the crest of their employer with them. If they were caught, it would be best to have a bargaining chip, and they certainly felt no loyalty to the man who was paying them. If he thought for even a moment that the facts fell otherwise, then he was a fool.

For such was the nature of their business.

* * *

It was her first time with space travel, or at least, the first time she could remember. Cryo was weird, made her mouth dry out and her joints ache; gave her nightmares, though what _**about**_, she couldn't recall.

She quickly decided that she hated it, wasn't the whole point of cryo so that you can sleep through the trip? She kept waking up.

Or maybe she didn't, maybe she just dreamed that she did. One way or the other, she hated the experience.

She hoped her companions were faring better than she. She worried about them, even in her sleep. Magnificent though they were, they were not exactly made for space travel.

* * *

Johns was a clever bastard, handsome, and strongly charismatic, though not particularly attractive. He could fake it though. Pretend to be a genuinely pleasant person, someone you might even be willing to confide in; he could play the good guy. But that didn't make him one.

In fact, the Blue Eyed Devil was about as far away from what could be considered a good person that it wasn't funny. How many times had there been complaints brought against him? How many times had the Guild protected him?

He didn't keep count, and he didn't care.

He caught his marks and he got his money, _**that**_ was what he cared about. And Riddick was _**some**_ prize. So what if it put every passenger in danger by bringing him aboard, he was confident the fucking psycho was secured, why should he worry?

Running out of his painkillers, now _**that**_ was something he worried about. This job would take care of that though, payday like Riddick's would keep him stocked with the good stuff for _**quite**_ some time.

And that's really all that Johns could be bothered to care about.

* * *

She was awake again, or dreaming she was awake again, the hair on the back of her neck was standing on end. That happened sometimes, she'd get a bad feeling, like some part of her was trying to tell her conscious mind something important.

There was always a brief moment when she felt like all her senses were dull, like they were only running at half power, then she'd get this clench in her gut and the hair on the nape of her neck would rise. It was usually all the warning she got before something bad happened.

The fact that she felt it now, on a spaceship, was extremely discomforting. There was a distant noise, quiet, a sort of _pop-pop-pop_ sound. The ship shuddered.

Her slightly dazed state shattered instantly, just because she'd never experienced it didn't mean she couldn't recognize a problem when it happened. Questing hands found the emergency quick-release almost immediately, but she paused, her mind assessing the situation. Would she perhaps be safer inside her capsule, protected by the shell-like object?

Something in her gut screamed '_**no**_'.

One last moment of hesitation and then she pulled with all her might.

The hiss of the glass opening had her on edge, but she moved to step out anyways. The ship shuddered again. Violently. She was sent sprawling, heart in her throat.

Things happened very quickly after that.

The ship gave another violent shudder, only this time the shaking didn't stop, but in fact grew increasingly more violent, and there was noise and alarms and chaos. Somehow, it seemed she was still the only one awake.

But that wasn't right, was it? If the ship was crashing, and it was most _**definitely**_ crashing, then wouldn't the emergency protocols automatically wake the crew? It seemed her best bet for survival would be to get to them, she had no idea what to do in a crashing ship.

By the time her mind had worked it out, she realized that she had been subconsciously moving in the direction of the main cabin anyways. It wasn't exactly surprising; her body had always seemed to move faster than her mind in life or death situations.

It was a task… getting to the main cabin, she kept slipping, falling… more than once she had been bashed into the silent cryo chambers. A distinctive shudder had her mind filling with the haze of horrified anger. A purge. The cargo had just been purged. She wedged herself against a cryo chamber that was standing alone, trying to catch her breath. Trying to think.

The cargo was just purged. Would they be alright? There were crash-safety elements built into their chamber, but would they hold? On a ship this old, would they even be reliable anymore? And what if the locator beacon didn't work? What if she couldn't find them?

A new shudder bashed her head into the chamber she was braced against, bringing her back to the present. "Shit." No need to borrow troubles, none of it would mean a damn thing if she died here.

She was just about to try moving again when her senses shrieked at her, screamed. There was a groan, a deep, spine tingling groan of metal warping.

And then the ship was ripped open, spilling her precious guts onto the planet outside. Wind was cutting. Light was blinding. Everything was happening in an instant.

Taniar didn't even have the time to feel horrified by the people spilling out like the ship's life-blood from a mortal wound. She was too busy holding on for her life. She wasn't even sure if she screamed or not.


	3. Chapter 2: First Impressions

_To awaken a Furyan whose very nature has been suppressed for years… that will require life-threatening danger and anger enough to ignite that legendary Furyan temper. Sorry Taniar, but it's time to wake up._

* * *

_**Holy geez, thanks to everyone that favorited/alerted and special thanks to **_Trance20666_**,**_ Swirlypasta_**,**_ Guest_**,**_ Operaghost18_**,**_ crazychi_**,**_ _**and **_bima_** for the reviews. I didn't expect so many people to like it so quickly. This should answer some questions, such as her age. I hope it gives you some new ones though. *grins***_

_**Anyways, here's chapter 2, don't forget to review, yeah? I want to know what y'all think! *smiles***_

* * *

**Awakening:**

**Chapter 2: First Impressions Formed and Tested**

* * *

He was surprised by what his senses were telling him, he could hear and smell her, and the animalistic awareness of his surroundings told him where she was. And what she was doing.

It was the fact that the one he was aware of was one he had already dismissed as weak that was surprising. There was no way he could be wrong about her, he'd never really _**been **_wrong before. Not about the character of someone. Not about their strength.

And her scent was weak. Was filled with weakness.

She reeked of chemicals the same way Johns did, though not of the same kind. And her scent, the small pure bit of her scent that he was able to identify, was so insubstantial, so weak.

Weak, weak, _**weak**_.

So how? How was it possible that the one with the weakest scent, possibly on the whole ship, was the one who seemed to have the strongest will to survive? It was a conundrum, one he allowed himself to contemplate, because he could only entertain the ways of killing Johns so many times before it became redundant. –_Actually, that wasn't true. It was just that once he settled on the method he liked best, his quick mind tended to turn to other things._-

He could feel the trouble in the air, could taste it, so he hadn't been surprised by the beginnings of a crash landing. He reveled in it, knowing it was only a matter of time now, before he was free. And yes, he'd been thinking about how much he would enjoy killing Johns.

And then she was just suddenly there. Painstakingly making her way towards him, though he very much doubted that he was her final goal, slipping and sliding and rattling around, bashing against cryotubes. She would have bruises before this day was up, a lot of them. Despite it all, she kept going.

Okay, so it was strange, but he could accept it. Her scent spoke of someone who had never faced adversity, and adversity had the habit of making or breaking people. It seemed that she'd just been made.

He deliberated only a second more before deciding to dismiss it. He needed to focus on escaping his cryo tube, getting out of his chains and killing that bastard Johns, not necessarily in that order. The strange girl would have to wait. And then something happened that rocked his world. She was right in front of him when they felt the unmistakable sensation of a ship's Purge.

And her whole scent _**changed**_.

* * *

She opened her eyes, pain in every movement. Taniar didn't recall hitting her head, not hard enough to knock her unconscious anyways, but the fact that she was waking up made it rather clear that she had.

That, and she had a truly _**killer**_ headache.

She sat up slowly, tentatively, and it was only when she was sure she wouldn't pass out again that she dared to reach back and feel for injury. There was an unsurprisingly large knot on her head and her fingers came away with flecks of blood, but not enough to cause concern. She grit her teeth, her head was killing her, sharp pains shooting through her eyes and playing like lightning in her skull. It was agony.

She ignored it, searching her pockets almost franticly and sighing in relief when her fingers coiled around cool metal. She removed the scanner, checking it over for damage and felt a wave of calm when it appeared to have survived unscathed. Then she turned it on.

The snarl that tore from her throat when the thing turned on but failed to pick up the signal of a beacon was animalistic and feral. It came from deep in her chest and hitched at the back of her throat before launching itself past her bared teeth in force. It was dangerous.

She didn't notice.

Nor did she notice that she had gone from sitting painfully on her ass to crouching on the balls of her feet, muscles tensed in preparation. Fight or flight mode was engaged, and she was dangerously inclined to fight.

She didn't even notice when her nails bit into the palm of her free hand, first reddening the skin, then splitting it, drawing blood to the surface.

She was snapped out of her fit by the sound of someone moaning in pain, and the moment she realized what had occurred, her face lost all color and she was scrambling again, this time in panic. Her hands took to the debris surrounding her when she realized her neck was bare, eyes wild with a kind of terror that most would never have the burden of understanding.

A sound vaguely like a maraca indicated that she had found what she was looking for and she pulled the black cylinder closer as she twisted it open. In a movement of practiced ease, Taniar shook a pill loose, popped it in her mouth, and cracked it with her back teeth before swallowing it down with a grimace. The tube closed with a snap.

She looked over the chain that normally kept the cylinder close to her heart, but her thoughts were not really on it, her lips pressing together in worry. This newest medication was the least affective of any that she had yet tried, she should have had days between doses, it seemed to wear off in hours.

Pills were hardly the most efficient way of stopping her problem, but they worked well enough as a preventative measure. Usually.

A cry of pain reminded her of her surroundings and she quickly pocketed the two items that were so important to her and rose unsteadily to her feet. For now, people were in need of help, it wouldn't hurt to see if she could lend a hand.

* * *

The twelve year old boy-who-was-not-a-boy was afraid. Jack B. Badd, for that was the name he had chosen and he would acknowledge no other, was _**truly**_ afraid. He didn't know what had happened, but he knew that something was wrong. He was trapped, his cryo chamber face-down, surrounding him in darkness, and panic was starting to settle in.

He banged on the metal, hoping that someone would hear. Hoping that someone would care. Hoping that someone would help.

He wasn't exactly going to hold his breath though.

And then there was a tentative tapping somewhere near his feet. He responded, _bang-bang-bang_, hoping it wasn't his imagination. It wasn't.

There was a voice, calling out something that he couldn't make out through the metal and only moments later the sound of a cutting torch, and then there was light, and air, and strong, thin hands gently pulling him free. The first person he saw was a woman, curly dark hair and a kind but stubborn face. The second leaned around him from behind to look into his eyes with concern. This face belonged to the hands, for they had not left his arm until the face appeared.

She, for this face too was a she, was perhaps five years older than Jack. With a lean young face, and a mouth better suited to smiles, the girl had the potential to be beautiful. Her eyes though, her eyes were strange. They were old eyes, wise beyond their years and their vibrant pale blue color was tempered with an underlying loneliness. Jack immediately decided that he disliked the loneliness in her eyes.

Her hair, pulled back into a braid, was an, almost red, shade of brown and seemed to be straight, if the wisps framing her face were any indication. There were scars on her face, thin, faint, barely noticeable, but there. She was frowning in concern.

So Jack smiled, "I'm guessing that something went wrong?"

* * *

She was older than she seemed, a late bloomer; tall, she'd always been tall, but underdeveloped. Doctors said she would get there, it was only a matter of time. It was but a small comfort when she was faced with the mocking of her fellows. The cruelty of children and all that.

She had always suspected that it was a side-effect of her medication, that they stunted her growth in some way. It was necessary though, the meds kept her calm, leashed her truly violent temper. Kept her from having… episodes. That she looked like an adolescent despite being a twenty-five year old was just something she'd gotten used to.

It was moments like this, however, faced with children, when she grieved for the thing she might not ever have. Taniar feared she was infertile, for her body had not once gone through the cycle of womanhood, and while she didn't want a child at the moment, the thought that she might not ever have one broke her heart. It also made her protective of any child in her care to a truly extreme extent.

Looking into the relieved face before her, she felt that pull to protect. She smiled in return and gently led the child to a clear place to sit, before looking the boy over in concern. "Are you at all injured?" He seemed surprised by the question, or maybe her voice was not what he'd imagined, but he shook his head with a stubborn look in his eyes. She felt her lips twitch into another smile, "Are you sure? We were just in a crash, your strength will not be doubted just because you admit to being injured."

The boy seemed to think about that for a moment before shaking his head again. "Bit banged up, but I'm okay, really."

She was surprised, the voice was soft and light, she might almost call it feminine, Taniar suddenly had a suspicious thought. She didn't voice it. "Alright, I'm going to see if I can find anyone else alive, do you want to give me a hand?"

The child smiled happily. "Sure."


End file.
